Author's Note: Okay, fixing in progress, my reviewing darlings. Random fact of the day: this story is complete. I've typed it all out, and it's sitting on a floppy disc at the moment. It goes to forty chapters. Anyway, enjoy this update, and please review!
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He rolled up his sleeves, examining for a moment those scar-free wrists. He remembered the sight of Chas crying on them with a painful pang in his chest.
This was it.
He lowered the razorblade to his arm.
Then a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist and tugged it away. The person standing behind John held both of his arms firmly. John growled, and flipped the person out the bath and over his back. The razorblade went flying, and the other person grabbed onto John's shirt to stop from falling over. John wrestled them to the floor.
"John!" came a muffled cry.
John froze, leaning back on his legs, and saw the slightly rumpled form of Chas lying on the floor underneath him, his curls askew, creases in his red t-shirt. His face was unreadable.
John adjusted his tie calmly. "Hello, Chas."
"Are you fucking retarded?" Chas demanded, panting. "What were you going to do, John?"
"Go to Hell, like you told me to do," John replied, realising that he wasn't really surprised that Chas had appeared.
Chas was quiet for a moment. "No," he said softly.
John blinked, then he sat down beside Chas. Chas glared at the ceiling, and John realised he was still hurt from the punch, which had really been quite uncalled for. He longed to take the boy's hand but he wondered how Chas would react. Instead, he rested his hand gently on Chas' arm.
"Chas." John swallowed. Sorry was a word he just couldn't say... but he had to... "I'm... I'm so, so s-sorry for punching you last night."
Chas didn't say anything. Instead he sat up and wrapped his arms around John's torso, burying his face into his chest. John felt his spark of hope reignite as he took the angel into his arms.